Acidity of Regret Ch 27
- Dec 24, 2025
- 7 min read
Helia rose abruptly, her wine glass clutched tight. The movement was sharp enough to draw every eye in the ballroom.
[Cotton] "He-Helia? What are you doing? You aren't going over there yourself, are you?"
Lady Cotton caught the murderous glint in Helia's eyes and tried to pull her back. She had been content to cause trouble from the shadows, but seeing Helia prepare for a direct assault made her blood run cold.
If a rift formed between the Count and the Grand Duke, the fallout would be catastrophic.
[Helia] "Sometimes, a direct approach is exactly what’s needed."
Helia swirled the deep red wine in her glass.
Vanessa was wearing a gown as white as fallen snow—the perfect canvas for a splash of crimson. The mere thought of that "blood-red" stain ruining the Duchess' perfection sent a thrill of twisted pleasure through her.
[Cotton] "Helia, stop. This is too risky. Think of your brother’s position..."
Her friends pleaded in a desperate chorus, but Helia was deaf to their reason, her mind clouded by a singular, spiteful goal.
[Helia] "The Grand Duke isn't here, and neither is my brother."
That insufferable Duchess hadn't so much as flinched despite weeks of harassment. Even her apologies were so painfully graceful and "holy" that they made everyone else feel like the villains.
It was infuriating.
Helia was determined to see that serene, beautiful face shatter. She wanted to see a crack in that perfect facade.
For that, Helia was more than willing to get her own hands dirty.
This was the stunt she had tried to pull at the wedding reception before her brother stopped her. But tonight, there was no brother to restrain her, and no Duke to protect the woman who had stolen her title.
And, as always, she would play the victim. A "clumsy mistake," a few fake tears, and the "kind" Duchess would have no choice but to forgive her to save face.
Masking her predatory smile with a veneer of noble dignity, Helia began her march toward the head table.
She made her move as she brushed past Vanessa, deliberately tilting her glass toward the Duchess's shoulder.
The glass slipped from her fingers and hit the floor—CRACK!
The crystalline shatter echoed through the hall, slicing through the orchestra’s melody and plunging the room into a suffocating silence.
[Helia] "Oh heavens! How clumsy of me!"
Helia pressed a hand to her lips, watching the red wine bloom across the pristine white silk like a fresh wound. She feigned horror, but behind her hand, her lips curled in a triumphant sneer.
Vanessa stood frozen, a statue of marble and stained silk. The damp, cold weight of the wine seeped into her skin, but it was the color—the visceral, spreading crimson—that paralyzed her. Her mind went blank, unable to process the immediate reality.
[Helia] "It was a complete accident. I am so terribly sorry, Your Grace. Whatever shall we do?"
Helia let the apologies pour out, loud enough for everyone to hear.
In high society, the one who bows first usually wins. In a room full of prying eyes, holding onto one’s pride often led to greater humiliation.
Since she was "apologizing" so profusely, any anger from Vanessa would be seen as a lack of class. Helia could hardly contain her glee; the plan was working perfectly.
Maids began to scramble toward them from the corners of the room. It was time for Helia to make her exit. She turned to leave, basking in her small victory.
Only then did she notice the sudden, icy shift in the atmosphere. The room hadn't just gone quiet—it had frozen.
[Declan] "Vanessa."
A familiar voice cut through the air, sending a shiver down Helia’s spine. It was the voice she had dreamed of hearing whisper sweet endearments in her ear.
It can't be.
Helia turned, her heart hammering against her ribs in terror.
There, standing over Vanessa, was Declan. He was already draping his heavy frock coat over his wife's ruined dress.
For a moment, Vanessa was lost in the dark.
The wine trailing down her white skirts looked too much like blood. It dragged a buried memory into the light—a memory she fought every day to keep interred.
The flash of a blade. Her father’s head fell. The spray of hot, red life across her vision. The glint of steel was coming for her next. The shrill, breaking sound of the glass felt like the world fracturing.
She was pulled back to the present by a heavy, warm weight settling over her shoulders. The oversized coat hid the "bloodstains" from view.
She looked up, her vision clearing to find Declan standing before her. He looked down at the shards of glass crunching beneath his boots and scowled.
[Declan] "You’ll get cut."
Without a word of explanation, he swept her into his arms. He issued a series of clipped orders to the butler before turning toward the exit. But before he left, his gaze snagged on Helia.
It was obvious to anyone with eyes that it wasn't an accident.
Declan directed a look of pure, glacial lethargy at the woman who had been his childhood friend's sister.
Helia flinched under that gaze, her face twisting from shock to a pathetic, aggrieved pout.
For a second, the air around Declan crackled with enough murderous intent to suggest he might strike her down then and there. Instead, he simply turned his back on her.
He didn't notice the way Vanessa’s fingers curled into his lapels until they were well away from the ballroom. Sometimes, she clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her from drowning.
[Vanessa] "You... you can put me down now."
She spoke softly once they reached the deserted corridor. Declan complied, setting her gently on her feet.
[Declan] "Has this been happening often?"
[Vanessa] "Has what been happening?"
Declan studied her, seeing right through the deflection.
If he hadn't returned early and headed straight for the hall, he wouldn't have known.
He had arrived just as the glass shattered. He had seen Helia standing far too close to Vanessa. It took him less than a second to realize what had happened.
Whether it was a "mistake" or not didn't matter—Helia had humiliated the Duchess.
He knew it was intentional the moment he saw the guests. They weren't shocked; they were watching like spectators at a blood sport.
Declan had wanted Vanessa’s pride to be eroded. He wanted her worn down until he was her only refuge. Everything he had done—ordering the butler to treat her like a commoner, summoning her to his room like a servant—was a calculated move to bind her to him.
Helia’s little stunt fit his goals perfectly.
And yet...
In that moment, he had felt a surge of white-hot rage. He wanted to wrap his hands around the throats of every noble who dared to look at Vanessa as a source of amusement.
How dare they?
The thought echoed in his mind. It was one thing for him to break her, but seeing others attempt it made his blood boil. He had been at her side before he even realized he was moving.
[Vanessa] "Nothing happened, really."
Her face was deathly pale. Seeing her like that only intensified his irritation.
Declan ran a hand through his hair, his movements jagged and frustrated.
[Declan] "No more galas. Not ever."
[Vanessa] "But the invitations from the nobles..."
[Declan] "Ignore them. Use my name as an excuse if you have to. I don't care."
[Vanessa] "..."
[Declan] "I’ll have a word with Count Quasar personally."
Vanessa stared at him, watching him solve the problem that had been suffocating her for weeks with a single sentence.
Her emotions were a tangled mess. She was embarrassed that he had seen her at her lowest, yet deeply grateful that he had appeared at exactly the right moment to save her.
Her trust in him was growing into something immovable. Every time he rescued her, her instinct to lean on him became harder to resist.
[Declan] "Let’s go to the bedroom."
Vanessa looked at his hand—the hand that held her wrist firmly, yet with a careful tenderness that didn't hurt.
Every time she stood alone in that ballroom, she had wanted to run.
The duties of marriage were a weight she wasn't sure she could carry. The mocking whispers and the cruel traps like today’s were almost too much to bear.
And yet, with one touch from Declan, she found herself thinking:
I’m glad I married him.
She knew exactly what this feeling was. Her love for him had finally taken its final, permanent shape.
"Liking" him wasn't enough to describe this heat in her chest. If he were the only one left in the world who stayed by her side, it would be enough.
He was her family now.
Family...
After her world had collapsed, Vanessa had been obsessively searching for someone to be on her side. She needed to fill the void left by her father. Declan had stepped into that space. Then and now, he was the only one she had.
At first, she thought that was enough. But as she settled into her life with him, her heart grew greedy.
She wanted a "real" family. She wanted someone else to love, someone who would belong only to them.
[Vanessa] "...Declan."
She looked at his hand, large enough to dwarf her own. The thought slipped out before she could stop it.
[Vanessa] "Let’s have a baby."
Declan froze. When he turned to look at her, his gaze was heavy—his blue eyes swirling with a dark, indecipherable complexity.
She stepped closer, leaning into the broad chest that always felt like a fortress.
[Vanessa] "I want to have a child with you."
A baby that looked like both of them. The thought brought a wave of pure happiness.
Before they were married, a child felt like a distant dream, but now it felt like the natural next step.
They were husband and wife. There was no reason to wait. A child born of their love would be someone who was "on her side" forever, just like Declan.
[Declan] "I have no intention of having children, Vanessa."
Her happiness was shattered at the sound of his voice—flat, cold, and utterly devoid of emotion.
She looked up, her gaze searching his face for a sign that he was joking.
He wasn't. His expression was as unyielding as stone.
[Declan] "There will be no children between us."
His tone was calm, almost kind, but the finality in his words cut her heart to the bone.
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